Verses
by Musafreen
Summary: A collection of Random Drabble-things set in the Dresdenverse (or AUs thereof).
1. Holy Water

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. 'Tis Jim Butcher's. I seek to make no profit to make from whatever it is I'm writing.

**Notes:** Set sometime between _Fool Moon_ and _Grave Peril_

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**Holy Water**

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Father Anthony Forthill had seen many things in his life, many of them at least slightly frightening. People with weak constitutions were rarely inducted into the Ordo Malleus, and so the most he did when presented with the very tall man in the black leather duster was raise an eyebrow.

"Can I help you, son?"

Brother Mario had taken one look at the man before coming to him for backup. Nefarious-looking men over six and a half feet tall weren't a common sight on the Church grounds, and it probably didn't help that the man was sporting two black eyes and a bruised jaw.

"Padre," the man greeted him, "I'm looking for Father uh… Anthony Forthill?"

Ah, the plot thickens.

"I am he," Forthill replied, "What can I do for you?"

"Oh," the man looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, "Um. I'm Harry Dresden. Michael Carpenter told me I could come to you if I needed any help."

Forthill took the business card Dresden offered him, and managed not to chuckle as he glanced over it. It was a close thing.

"You're a Wizard?"

"Yes," Dresden confirmed, "I have a staff and robe and everything."

"A true magus?"

He shrugged, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"White Council?"

His eyes widened at that, just a little. Enough, however, to make him aware that the Wizard was younger than he'd thought. Clearly much younger than Michael, mid-twenties at the most.

"How did you-"

"The Church has its' ways, Mister Dresden."

What the Church really had was a millennia-old distrust of practitioners, ending with a healthy record of prosecutions which were horrific in hindsight. But he supposed his statement captured the essence; the discovery of the Council was quite possibly what prompted discretion (and later regret) on the part of the prosecutors.

Michael had never been very fond of practitioners (something about how he had met Charity), and a recommendation from him for one was nothing to be sneezed at.

"You're Michael's friend?"

"I'd like to think so."

Forthill nodded, and stood aside to let him enter. Michael had never mentioned a Wizard, but he did always try very hard not to discuss his work when the children were around. On the other hand, Charity had muttered something (distinctly uncomplimentary) about a mouthy practitioner with a deathwish the last time he'd had to take her on an emergency trip to the hospital. He'd assumed it was her hormones talking again at the time.

Ah well, live and learn.

"And how may I help you, Mr Dresden? I trust it's not by guiding your soul down the path?"

"He-uh, heck, no," Dresden grinned, and followed it up with a slightly nervous look towards the ceiling, "Uh, I need some holy water. Pretty badly."

"Of course. I'm sure I have a few phials in my room-"

"About five gallons worth."

Fortill stopped, and stared at the man.

"I've already got the drum in my car," Dresden jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the door, "You just need to bless it. If it's all right, I mean."

He stared harder.

"Padre? Is it a problem? Because it would really help."

"Ah, no. I suppose not. It's just… unusual, as far as requests go," Forhill shook himself, "Bring it in please, and I'll see what I can do."

Oh, he was definitely going to have to follow up with Michael about this one.

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**More Notes:** This could be a part of a series of random slice-of-life vignettes. :) Haven't decided yet.


	2. Casket and Church

**Notes:** Um. So, I came up with this scene before I properly applied a timeline to a DF Alternative Reality I was trying to write. Which means that it should not really be possible and stuff (Lord Raith's sons should not have survived till Thomas was 12). But because I'm shameless, it's being posted here and you should just handwave it for a few moments.

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**Setting:** Pre- Storm Front.

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Twelve year old Thomas Raith fidgeted, tugged at his tie, and tried to look anywhere except at the funeral casket.

He had limited success, mostly because the cemetery was filled with people, each of them with their eyes trained onto just _that_. Their collective gaze was magnetic, drawing his eyes back to the box. Vaguely rectangular with a vaulted lid, white with silvery curves patterned out on it. Like everything (and everyone) else present, it looked expensive.

When Lara had walked into his room, woken him up at an ungodly hour (which was surprising in itself; Lara usually left waking him up to the help) and told him to get dressed, he had predictably responded with a mumbled _why, for the love of god?_

"Anton is dead," was Lara's terse reply, "Father wants you to be at his funeral."

That had woken him up pretty fast.

His brother was not the nicest of people, what with having a tendency to sneer at him and make creepy cryptic comments. But he was family and they'd formed something of a reluctant bond, what with being the only two male Raiths in their generation and all. Thomas tended to like his sisters a little more than he liked Anton, but even he knew they could be a little unbearable after prolonged exposure.

Thereby stunned into obeying, Thomas dressed in silence and without protest. When he'd finally gotten his voice back, he'd asked Lara if they'd get to see him before, _you know…_

"No," Lara herded him into the Rolls, still unusually abrupt. "It's a closed casket. For good reasons."

Thomas was trying very hard not to think about what that meant. It was hard enough to believe the box contained his only older brother, without having to add blood and gore into the equation.

He pulled his eyes away from the casket (with some difficulty), and glanced around the grounds. He'd never known he had so many relatives.

The priest drawled on in a monotone, occasionally glancing at Father and Lara, who stood closest to him.

_That _was another thing. He'd thought the Raiths were firmly un-religious. The only time he'd been to a church was from school, and by accident. Barging in with the whole family onto consecrated ground the moment someone had died struck him as thumbing your nose at God, somehow. If there was one. But at least everyone looked almost as comfortable as he was. He'd never seen Lara _fidget_before this.

His Father wasn't fidgeting though. His Father looked… serene. Sad, but serene.

The priest finished his chanting, and the casket was lowered into the hole. And then everyone left very, very quickly. Thomas couldn't blame them. He wanted very much to be away from the place, and he was Anton's brother. Even his sisters were upset; Elisa and Natalia took turns hugging him and stuff. And they kept hovering over him till he complained to Lara.

"Tommy," she'd replied, almost smiling, "You're the only brother we have left now. I think you can allow them a hug or two."

And despite the voice in the back of his head continuously going '_this can't be good_', that was exactly what Thomas did for the entire ride back home. Aloof or not, siblings were siblings, and he hoped he wouldn't have to go through that ever again.

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**More Notes:** Many thanks to _Jillian Aerist_ and _I am Reyna daughter of Bellona_ for their help with this. Thanks, guys.


End file.
